


Truce

by royalworldtraveler



Series: elioliver, a series of oneshots [7]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Oliver’s POV, Protective Oliver, They’re Really Happy Together, however
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 11:52:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17467049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalworldtraveler/pseuds/royalworldtraveler
Summary: There are moments after something monumental has happened, that the entire world seems to freeze. The snow outside stops falling, the clock’s incessant ticking pauses. Traffic is stuck, the music playing from the parlor peters out.





	Truce

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning for implied self-harm. nothing graphic, but be aware.

The door of their apartment slams shut, and Oliver hears a string of whispered curses before the plopping of shoes on the rack. Oliver calls out to him from the living room, happy to have his boyfriend back after an especially long Thursday. His least favorite lectures are on Thursdays, and he’s sick of grading. 

 

Upon hearing no response, Oliver pulls his glasses off and looks toward the door. Elio is hunched, leaning against the door with his hands on his face. He’s rubbing at his eyes, and Oliver registers faint noises of discomfort.

 

He’s crying. Elio is crying.

 

He jumps from the couch and rushes to the door. “Elio, baby,” he murmurs, pulls him into his chest like he always used to when occasions like this one were frequent. Back before Elio got on his new medication, before he went back to therapy. Oliver’s chest constricts at the memories. Elio’s glassy eyes as he confessed what he had done. Finding him on the bathroom floor, curled into himself and sobbing. Those razors that had gone missing from his bathroom cabinet in the tub behind him, in a puddle.

 

“Elio, what’s wrong? Tell me what happened,” he says.

 

Elio is shaking now. He’s wailing against Oliver’s chest, and Oliver pulls him impossibly closer.

 

Oliver breathes in deep, a plea for Elio to follow suit and regulate his own breathing before he hyperventilates. “Shh, baby, it’s okay,” he says, but he knows it’s not. Elio had been doing so well. This hasn’t happened in months.

 

After a minute or so, Elio calms down enough to pull away. He sniffles, wipes his nose on the sleeves of his sweater. Oliver’s always loved this sweater. It’s too big on him.

 

He leans in to kiss the wet patches on Elio’s cheeks. Elio lets out a long, shaky sigh in turn, hiccuping through it as he catches his breath.

 

“I’m sorry,” Elio whispers.

 

“You never have to apologize to me for this, ever. Ever.”

 

Elio’s face scrunches up, a few silent tears running down his face. “No, I mean—“ His voice is wrecked. “I’m...I-I’m, I’m so sorry, Oliver.”

 

“What are you sorry for?” he says. But Oliver knows.

 

He rubs at his face. Fiddles with the hem of his sweater. Hiccups.

 

“Talk to me, baby, please,” Oliver coaxes. There’s an undeniable knot in his throat that he feels forming with every breath, every thought. “Please,” he says, and he forces himself not to cry. He can’t, not now.

 

Elio stills. He grabs one of his sleeves and pulls it up, just enough for Oliver to see fresh scars.

 

There are moments after something monumental has happened, that the entire world seems to freeze. The snow outside stops falling, the clock’s incessant ticking pauses. Traffic is stuck, the music playing from the parlor peters out.

 

Such a moment occurs right then and there. Elio is frozen, staring at the floor. Oliver is frozen, staring at Elio’s forearm.

 

All at once, Elio bursts into a fresh wave of tears, and his cries hit Oliver square in the chest. They crumple into each other. Oliver allows himself to break, just for a moment, and feels his eyes water. A few harsh tears spill over.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Elio chants, sobbing and trembling against him.

 

Oliver nods. It’s all he can do, let him cry, hold him through it all. He vowed to, and he never breaks a promise.

 

“I love you more than anything, Elio,” he says. “We’ll figure this out.”

 

The snow keeps falling, the clock continues its incessant tick, traffic resumes, and the music in the bar down the street starts up again.

 

“We’ll always figure it out.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what’s going on with you guys. I missed writing. It’s been hard sometimes. Kudos and comments are so appreciated. 
> 
> I had to write this. Be safe out there guys. Somebody loves you. 
> 
> title from Truce, by Twenty-One Pilots.


End file.
